


Kisses Should Last Forever

by medelrey



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 18:32:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7372873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medelrey/pseuds/medelrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill: Jon is drunk and kisses Sansa. It was a mistake but now he wants to kiss her all the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kisses Should Last Forever

Jon hasn’t been this drunk since King Robert came to Winterfell all those years ago. He laughs as Sansa hands him another goblet of wine; smiling widely as he tastes the sweetness on his tongue.

“How does it feel? To be King of the North?” Sansa asks, taking a small sip of her own wine.

“I’m not sure,” he says, “I’ve been a bastard, Lord Commander, and now a king. How is one supposed to feel?”

“Like a Stark,” she grins. “I told you were a Stark.”

Jon smiles at his sister, setting down his empty goblet on the large table in front of him.

“Still not a Stark.”

“You are to me,” Sansa replies forcefully. She moves down the bench to sit closer to him, taking his hand in her own. “You are to me.”

Jon gasps as her cold fingers intertwine with hiss, spreading a warmth through his body that starts in his tendons, travels through the veins under his skin, through the holes left in him from his murder, to the very end of his toes. He flexes his hand experimentally, gently pressing his fingertips across her palm.

His head is swimming from the alcohol; the great hall has eight chandeliers instead of four, the fire is hazy and dwindling and he shakes his head to shake the daze. It doesn’t work; not until he looks up at Sansa and she’s the only clear thing he’s seen in months. Gods, she’s pretty, so fucking pretty, with porcelain skin and bright red hair and those wide blue eyes. She’s his sister but he’s never felt less like a Stark than when he looks at her.

Sansa tightens her grip on Jon’s hand, leaning her head onto his shoulder. “We might be the last Starks left. What would father say?”

“I don’t know, honesty,” Jon replies, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. “He’d just be happy Winter has finally come.”

Sansa laughs, shaking her head. “We were made for the snow.”

“Aye,” Jon mumbles, looking at their intertwined fingers, feeling the warmth from her body pressed against his side. There’s a feeling in the pit of his stomach he can’t get rid of, no matter how hard he tries. It’s tied to Sansa, sweet Sansa, his Sansa. She moves to glance up at him and Jon swears her clear eyes see straight through his soul.

They stay like that for what seems like forever, just watching, staring, breathing with each other. Jon unlaces his fingers from Sansa’s, moving to cradle her face and place a kiss upon her forehead. He wonders if Sansa feels the same as he does, whether she has the tingle in her stomach or the warmth in her toes. She leans into his touch, sighing softly as Jon holds her tight against his chest.

His lips burn with the want of desperately wishing he could kiss her; here on her forehead, on her sweet lips, maybe on her neck and anywhere else she wished for. Jon rubs her back before she pulls away, looking back at his face.

And damn it if Jon can’t help himself, pressing his lips to hers. There’s a little gasp of surprise that falls from Sansa’s mouth before she kisses him back, her fingers tightening on his jerkin as she moves closer to him. Jon tangles his hands in her hair as she nips at his bottom lip, kissing him hard with all the fire she has in her.

Sansa’s lips are so soft, like the finest silks, just like her hair and hands and Jon wishes he could find out if she feels like this everywhere. He kisses her until he can’t breathe, until he has no choice but to pull away to refill his lungs. She’s smiling as he looks at her face, taking in the way her mouth is slightly pink, rubbed raw from his beard and how breathtakingly beautiful she is. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, dropping his hands. “I shouldn’t have.”

“No,” Sansa murmurs, blushing as she looks away.

There’s an awkward silence that fills the entire hall as Jon clears his throat. “I should retire…it is late.”

Jon stands, unsure of what to do.

“I didn’t mean you had to go, Jon. I meant you didn’t have to apologize.”

He smiles that half-frown, shaking his head. “I should go.”

Sansa sighs in frustration, aggravated at not getting her way. She’ll let him leave, but she’ll find him tomorrow, and the next, and the next after that until he kisses her without guilt and doesn’t hold back because she is Sansa Stark, and Sansa always gets what she wants in the end.

Jon leaves the hall with a tightness in his breeches, and a fullness in his chest. He can’t stop thinking about how it felt when he kissed her; her softness, the small sounds she made. He left her alone tonight, but he’ll find her tomorrow, and the next, and the next after that until the uneasiness leaves his stomach and he finds home in the only woman that makes Jon Snow weak.

**Author's Note:**

> You can request prompts on my tumblr: mattysigh.tumblr.com


End file.
